


Words hung above

by impulsive_astrophile



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Crying, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Men Crying, No betas we own our mistakes and cry about them like men, Post-Episode: s05e01-02 Redux, Pre-Relationship, indirect mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 22:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30028863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulsive_astrophile/pseuds/impulsive_astrophile
Summary: By Redux II, the reality that Scully might actually die was sinking in with Mulder. He deals with that. And, later, they both deal with the news of her recovery.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 37





	Words hung above

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely @ms-starlight71 on Tumblr. Based on the tags I left on a post when I was having a breakdown about Mulder's face when he tells Skinner that Scully's going to be okay.

_ Scully’s gonna be okay.  _

That’s all Mulder can think; all he’s been able to think since they got the word that she was officially in remission a week ago. 

He’s been trying to tamp down on the relief, a bitter part of his mind reminding him people lie and her cancer could come back. But hope snook up on him, rebellious, and burrowed into his bones.

He’s delirious with the relief of it. It bleeds into the places that had gone numb from grief and fear, the sudden influx of feelings making him dizzy and unsteady. 

Mulder fumbles with his keys, hands almost shaking too much to keep a good grip on them as he finally slots the key in the lock. 

Scully had sent him home. He’d spent nearly the whole week refusing to leave her side after they’d gotten the news, afraid that if he left, he’d wake up and find out it was all a dream. But Scully had rightfully insisted he go home and get some rest so he’d be capable of driving her home tomorrow. 

He stumbles into his apartment, fully prepared to take a shower and maybe sit on the couch for a few hours before heading back tonight like they both knew he would.

It’s not until he trips and hits his head on a box that he remembers. 

The smoking man had offered him a cure - another chip for Scully. One that would supposedly cure her. But she’d had it implanted and had seen no sign of remission, and Mulder spiraled. 

He’d gone to her, needing to feel the warmth of her presence - scant that it may have been as her body failed her and grew cold even in life. Knelt by her bed and sobbed his heart out, silently, so as not to wake her. The same way he’d learned to do as a kid when any reminder that  _ he  _ might be hurting was met with castigation, indifference, or worse - matching tears from his mother, evidence of her own grief. 

Mulder had woken at her bedside as the first hint of the sun filtered into her room, knees stiff and eyes crusted shut. In a haze, he’d uncurled himself from around Scully’s hand, pressed a kiss to it, and stumbled out of the hospital. 

He still doesn’t remember driving back to his apartment that day, or asking the neighbor next door who’d just moved in if he could borrow boxes from them. He doesn’t even really remember packing his life away, neatly, into the boxes piled around him now, labeling them so they’d be easy to sort through. 

He  _ does  _ remember despair dripping like acid into the few places hope had remained inside him that even he hadn’t been aware of. It melted everything in its path until the last of his tears had been wrung out, and he and his despair had congealed into numbness.

But he also remembers that numbness clearing as soon as he heard the word “remission” come out of Scully’s mouth. The relief brought him to his knees in front of her family. 

It’s that relief that brings him to sit up, get an icepack and a bandaid - from the first aid kit he started keeping under his sink after Scully got sick - for his head, and begin to unpack the boxes and put his life right again.

It’s that relief, too, that brings him to his knees again when a sweater of Scully’s falls out of one of his. 

He picks it up, tears pricking at his eyes.  _ It’s so small.  _

It’s smaller than his, of course, but even smaller than she used to buy. Cancer had stolen her appetite and eaten away at her until it seemed she was little more than skin and bones, and she’d had to buy almost an entirely new wardrobe. 

A reminder of just how close he’d come to losing her. 

With trembling hands, he brings it to his nose, breathing in the unmistakable scent of  _ her _ . 

The dam breaks. 

Mulder brings the sweater with him to the couch, collapsing on it, and just cries.

\--

“Mulder?” Scully knocks on his door again, louder. “Mulder, it’s me. Are you in there?”

With no response, Scully feels her heart rate pick up. 

She’d sent him home yesterday to get some rest, fully expecting him to be back later that night anyway. Barring that, she’d expected at least an anxious, middle-of-the-night call from him to make sure she hadn’t disappeared while she was out of his sight. 

But neither had come, and when 24 hours had gone by with no word from him, she got worried.

She pulls out her keys, unlocking his door with practiced ease. 

The sight of half-packed boxes on nearly every surface fills her with dread. “Mulder?” She calls out again.

A muffled, “‘cully?” comes from the couch, followed by Mulder scrambling to get up so fast he falls off it. Blinking up at her from the floor, Mulder frowns in confusion. “Scully? What are you doing here?”

Scully navigates around the boxes on the floor, coming to Mulder’s side to check him over. “When you didn’t show to pick me up this morning, I thought something might’ve happened. I had my mother pick me up instead and bring me here.” 

Mulder frowns again. “Aw, shit, Scully, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d sleep for so long.” He shakes his head angrily. “I should’ve been there to pick you up.”

“Mulder, it’s fine. She wanted to pick me up anyway.” Scully sighs, frowning when she brushes his hair back and notices the bruise on his forehead. “What happened?”

Mulder gestures to the boxes, looking chagrined. “I tripped.” 

“I can see why,” Scully notes absently. She gestures for him to move onto the couch, then sits beside him. Doesn’t ask him about the boxes, even though she desperately wants to. 

For his part, Mulder can’t tear his eyes off her. If last night he’d felt closer to her by clinging to her sweater, it’s nothing like her actually being here. It’s taking every last ounce of his willpower not to reach out and pull her into his arms. 

His traitorous eyes start to fill with tears again, and he angrily wipes them away before Scully can see them.  _ So much for being done crying,  _ he thinks bitterly _. _

The movement catches Scully’s attention, though, and she tears her focus off of the boxes to look at him. Her brow furrows, and she reaches out to cup his face, only to abort the movement halfway through. “Mulder? What’s wrong?”

“Scully, I-” his voice breaks, and he looks away. 

This time Scully does touch his face, bringing his gaze back to her. “What is it?” 

The tenderness in her voice combined with her touch sends him over the edge. He leans forward and pulls her to him, crying a little harder at how small she feels in his arms. 

“Mulder-” she tries to pull back, but Mulder clings tighter. “Okay, it’s okay.” Frowning into his shoulder, she wraps her arms around his back, rubbing soothing circles there as he shakes. The last time she’d seen him cry like this, his mother had been in the hospital. 

When the tears slow, Scully shifts, running one of her hands through his hair. “Mulder, did something happen? Is your mother okay?” 

“No, she’s fine.” Mulder sniffles, burying his face so far into the crook of her neck she can barely make out the following words - but when she does, her heart breaks a little. “Scully, I was  _ so scared. _ ”

He whispers it, like she used to whisper her confessions to her priest as a kid. Like a shameful secret. 

“Oh, Mulder.” 

She hadn’t wanted to worry him - that was part of why she kept the extent of her condition to herself - but she had known he was worried anyway. 

Maybe she had purposefully blinded herself to just  _ how  _ scared he was, though. Near the end, she had been so scared herself that it had been especially hard to acknowledge how anyone else was feeling.

She hugs him tighter, tears springing to her own eyes. “I was scared too,” she confesses, her own voice a whisper now too. “But I’m okay now.” 

Mulder nods into her, still not pulling back. “I know. But what if-” he cuts himself off.

“What if the other shoe drops?” She finishes. 

He nods again.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge  _ if  _ we come to it,” Scully says. “But for now, I’m getting better, and I can’t live my life in fear that the cancer will come back. And neither can you.” She punctuates the last part with a squeeze.

“I-” he starts, but seems to think better of it. “Okay.” 

They both know that’s not the end of it; a small part of each of them is going to be waiting for the other shoe for years to come. But Scully’s right; that’s no way to live their lives. 

They sit like that until Scully yawns. 

Mulder pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s get you to bed,” he says fondly. 

“What bed?” She teases, recalling his being buried under a mountain of junk. 

“I was thinking yours,” he says, gesturing to his keys on the table. 

Scully thinks about this for a minute, then pushes him back until he’s flat against the couch. She stretches out all of her sore joints, then drapes herself carefully over him, snuggling close. “Actually, I think I’m good here. I’ve got my own personal space heater.”

Mulder gapes for a minute, unable to believe what’s happening. 

“Mulder, shut your mouth. You’re going to attract flies.” Mulder shuts it, wondering how she knew it was open when her eyes are closed. “And pull that blanket off the back of the couch. It’s cold in here.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says absently, doing as she asked without question. 

Blanket draped over them, fuzzy and warm, Scully falls asleep quickly. Mulder starts to drift off soon after. He wasn’t sure he could sleep more, but he thinks maybe he can do anything with Scully in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over the span of two days and it was like pulling teeth most of the way through, so I hope it was coherent! Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> P.S., I wrote a scene explaining the box thing but couldn't make it fit with the rest of the story. I couldn't tell if I was super clear about it without that scene, though, so just in case: Mulder thought Scully was going to die, and he knew that if she died he would too, so he packed up all of his stuff and made it easy to sort through so no one would have to after he died.


End file.
